


sorrow atoms

by angelfishofthelord



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angel Wings, Blood and Injury, Castiel Whump (Supernatural), Ficlet, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: s05e10 Abandon All Hope..., Team Free Will (Supernatural), Whump, just a little cursed image i couldn't get out of my head, not that much comfort tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:40:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28953609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelfishofthelord/pseuds/angelfishofthelord
Summary: Sam wakes Dean up to tell him that he saw Lucifer and Dean immediately shoots up, one hand to the gun under his pillow and the other gripping Sam’s shoulder rasping “you didn’t say yes did you?” As if his little brother isn’t standing right there with unbrushed hair and wrinkled t shirt and one pant leg rolled up.“No, you idiot,” Sam gasps, wide-eyed. “He told me where to find Cas.”
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	sorrow atoms

**Author's Note:**

> I was watching Dr Who S8E12 and the scenes in the graveyard made me think about what if the boys found Cas in a graveyard so...here's a little nugget of whump. Set in S5, sometimes after 5x10.

They get the location from a dream.

Sam wakes Dean up to tell him that he saw Lucifer and Dean immediately shoots up, one hand to the gun under his pillow and the other gripping Sam’s shoulder rasping “you didn’t say yes did you?” As if his little brother isn’t standing right there with unbrushed hair and wrinkled t shirt and one pant leg rolled up.

“No, you idiot,” Sam gasps, wide-eyed. “He told me where to find Cas.”

They hadn’t heard from the angel since Carthage. They figured he had gone back to his search for God. They thought he was busy in Peru or Madagascar, somewhere they didn’t have to worry about his safety.

“Why did Lucifer tell you?” Dean asks with his foot on the gas pedal and both hands on the wheel. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to know the answers to the questions that keep coming, but they force their way out anyways.

Sam looks nauseated and not from the lurch of the Impala as it speeds around the other vehicles to get ahead in the lane. “He said, ‘You don’t want to say yes now. You will soon.’ I didn’t--it didn’t make any sense to me but then he said ‘Go pick up your angel .’ “

Dean can’t make the car go any faster without breaking their necks through the windshield but he stomps down on the pedal anyways. Sam clasps his hands together, wringing them back and forth until his wrist bones protest. The location Lucifer had dropped was a cemetery and Sam turns his thoughts away from what they might find there and towards praying.

_Cas, we’re coming. Cas, hold on._

The brakes shriek when Dean pulls up outside the cemetery gate and they both fling the doors open at once. They start running in the same direction, almost colliding into each other. “Cas!” they call and the wind slaps the name back across their faces.

It’s a forest of granite here. Tall gnarled arms of tree roots wrapped around the cracked tombstones, patches of moss staining the stone hair of crumbling angel statues, the low hanging breath of an ashen sky. They split up at first, stepping over wilted bouquets and extinguished candles, calling the same name over and over. They meet up again halfway through the cemetery and exchange silent looks of barely concealed dread.

Then Dean sees it. A black flutter in the distance.

“Is that--” he frowns, taking a step forward. “That looks like--”

“Feather,” Sam breathes. Dean shoots him a sideways glance before the word fully drowns him.

“Feather,” he repeats, disbelieving.

Their legs suddenly don’t work to run; they stumble towards the waving black shape like crippled men. They blink to try to make the vision fade, to make the mirage crumble but it doesn’t. Above the sloped roundness of gray rock wave the fingers of giant black feathers, silk for barbs, glistening in the loitering sun.

Sam looks at Dean and manages to shake his head. _Those can’t be--he didn’t--_

Dean looks away. He looks away from the naked terror in his little brother’s eyes.

When they’re within arms reach of the feathers they hear it. A low, strangled cough, coming from the other side of the headstones.

Their knees finally bend, adrenaline spiking the shock into action. They barrel around the corner and then almost drop to their knees, dirt scuffing the toes of their sliding shoes.

Sitting propped up against the headstone--one with a lightning crack across it that bears the name of one loving wife and grandmother who died fifty years ago--is Castiel. On either side of him, draped over the companion headstones--one for the loving father and grandfather, one for the granddaughter--are two jet black wings.

Dripping in blood from the stumps.

Castiel opens one swollen eye. His bruised jaw works slightly, mouth moving in the shape of a name but all that comes out is a splatter of red.

“D-” he tries again, leaning towards their outstretched arms. “S’m--” his eyelids open wider, bright broken blue.

_“Cas.”_ It’s not much different from a sob.

He dips his forehead against their shoulders, the rest of his limbs following the slump of his body. The tan strips of cloth that remain of his coat flutter from his elbows and wrists. When their arms come around his back he jerks his head up and screams.

Dean pulls his hand away immediately. “Sammy,” he chokes out, peeling a piece of fabric aside.

The entire canvas of the angel’s back is ripped open, an unrecognizable mass of shredded skin and muscle and tissue. Two long lines run deep down the blood-soaked canyon, one from either side of his shoulders down the entire length of his back.

_You won’t say yes now. You will soon._

_Go see your angel._

Castiel lifts his head slowly, gazing at them with unspilled wells of agony. “Lu-” he croaks, red speckling his lips.

“Cas,” Sam murmurs, placing a hand to the back of Castiel’s head. He presses a cheek against him, tears running off his chin and into the dark matted hair. Dean clasps a hand over Sam’s shaking fingers and the angel sags between their arms. There’s a tiny tug on the hem of their shirts, a grasp of fingers too feeble to form a fist, but strong enough to hold on to the fraying threads.

**Author's Note:**

> story title from Max Richter's ["Sorrow Atoms"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N55vqdfTx3k)


End file.
